A Different Kind of Pain
by Kika1
Summary: A series of ficlets with alternating POVs between Ken, Omi, and Nagi about how relationships shifted with the changes that came about during the Drama CDs. Shounen ai.
1. Kiss Me: Ken's POV

Author's Note: This originally started out as a one-shot ficlet, but turned into a series of ficlets from multiple points of view. They all take place during the Drama CDs; if you have not read them I highly recommend doing so, it filled in a lot of gaps for me and cleared up a lot of confusion that I had about how things ended up like they did in Gluhen. However, I tried to make what was going on clear so that anyone who has not read the CDs will know what is going on, and whose POV each chapter is coming from is also clarified within each chapter. Hope you enjoy!

* * *

_Kiss me._

The words echoed in Ken's mind, pounding in time to his heart until the resounding words were all that occupied his mind. It was not the first time he had heard those words, not even the first time he had heard them from this person, and yet this time, they had the strength to occupy his every thought; even now, days later.

_Kiss me._

It was not the words in and of themselves that caused the imprint on his mind. Not the words, but the way they had been spoken. There was demand and pleading in them at the same time, the same emotions reflected in those earnest blue eyes. Earnest, and yet. . . so full of pain. He had not understood why the pain was there, not then.

_Ken. . ._

The whispered name, so close to his lips, had been so intense, so full of desperation that Ken had stopped short in his movement towards Omi.

"Omi?" He had barely had time to say the name before Omi had closed the distance between them, pushing his lips insistently against his until Ken opened up to him, completely bewildered at his lover's behavior.

At the time, Ken had not been able to form thoughts enough to wonder what was prompting this behavior. Of course, he had noticed how Omi had been distancing himself, and had even delicately questioned him about it, but Omi had brushed it off, saying that nothing was wrong. However, in that moment when Omi had pressed his lips to his own, wrapping his arms around his neck, none of these things had crossed his mind.

He could not have thought about those things if he had wanted to. The persistent push of Omi's lips against his own, the warm silk of his tongue questing for entry, the firm grip of hands tangling in his hair, the press of Omi's lithe body against his own; these were the things that had filled his mind in that moment, even as his heart had screamed at him that something was not right.

If only he had listened to that screaming, instead of pushing aside and pretending that everything was fine.

Now Omi was gone. He should have known, really had known, even if he had not been able to admit it, several days ago, when Omi had gone to Tsukiyono Castle and had not returned for two days. Even then, he had only stayed long enough to gain some information before jumping to the defense of his grandfather and running back to the castle. Ken had listened to the screech of wheels on pavement as Omi drove away, and had known in that moment that he had lost him.

Now they, all of Weiss, stood here, as Omi announced that Saijou was not a target in this mission. The old man was obviously guilty, and yet Omi protected him. . . protected someone who he knew – he had to know – had been involved in the deaths of innocent people.

Perhaps Omi really was blind to it all. Perhaps he honestly wanted to believe that his grandfather, the last living member of his blood family, was innocent. Yet somehow, it was still a betrayal to Weiss, and it was clear on all their faces.

In the past, Ken had thought that he would do anything, endure anything, to give Omi the chance to have a life beyond Weiss, but as he stood here now, it was all he could do to not yell, scream, cry out against what was happening. Had it happened any other way, Ken could have lived contentedly even without his lover, knowing that he was happy, leading a normal life somewhere. However, what was happening now was not going to lead Omi to a more normal life. Ken had the wrenching feeling deep in his gut that what Omi was doing would only cause him more heartache. . . and yet he could not bring himself to stop the process, could not make himself step in when Omi was at least trying to change his life. Who was he to try to stop him?

Once again, his heart screamed and raged that something was not right. And once again, he pushed that feeling to the side, and tried to move on, without Omi, even as his mind felt as if it were folding in on itself, those two words echoing in his memory endlessly. . .

_Kiss me. . ._


	2. Empty Dreams: Omi's POV

A/N: Lyrics at the end are from Behind Blue Eyes by Limp Bizkit

* * *

That look in his eyes. . . that look of betrayal, of anger, of _love_, even after what I'd done to him. That look will haunt me the rest of my days. Of course, that is nothing new. I have so many things haunting me now, I'm surprised I even notice one more added to the list.

I left for his own well being -- for all of their well being. I can protect them as Mamoru better than I ever could as Omi. I know he doesn't understand that, though. I don't really expect him to. . . I wouldn't understand if I were him either.

I love him. I know he does not believe it right now, and likely never will again, but I honestly do love him. I have for a long time, and I have a feeling I always will. We used to tell each other that we loved one another quite often, but after what has happened today, I'm sure he'll think it was all a lie. Perhaps it is better that way. If blaming me helps him find peace, I am more than willing to shoulder the blame. After all, it certainly is not his fault.

I turn to look at the picture I keep on my desk of Weiss, back when we all worked in the flower shop. I was so carefree then. . . well, as carefree as an assassin can be. I did not have to concern myself with being responsible for the lives of all Kritiker agents or keeping up a public image as a Takatori. I simply did what I was supposed to do, whether in the flower shop or at school or on a mission, and did it to the best of my ability without any thought for the future. When you're assassin you learn not to dwell too much on the future -- you never really know how far ahead you have anyway.

I suppose that is why it took so long for Ken and I to admit our feelings for each other. Sure, we could sleep together without consequences, but acknowledging that we wanted a future together was scary -- it meant planning ahead for a future that we were not sure was even there. It is hard to admit to yourself, much less to someone else, that you are in love with someone whose very lifestyle places them in mortal danger every day. When we went out on missions, we never knew who would return, and knowing that I could die and leave Ken behind, or the unthinkable, Ken could die, was without a doubt the hardest thing I've ever had to deal with. I think it made our love stronger, though. We really never knew which day was our last, so we clung to each other with a passion that bordered on desperation some nights.

That is one of the main reasons I accepted this position as head of Kritiker. As Omi, I was free to love Ken, but the control that could possibly save his life was out of my hands. We had to accept missions blindly, whether it was simple or a suicide mission. As Momaru I control the missions handed down to Weiss. While I cannot make the job safe for them, my emotional attachment to the group as a whole ensures that no reckless missions be handed down to them. At least, that is how Grandfather persuaded me.

I am tainted now. I know that for a fact, but that is just another thing to haunt me added to all the others. I allowed Saijou Takatori to go free when I knew for a fact that he was guilty of the crimes the rest of Weiss accused him of. I was not in denial -- I knew he was guilty. The fact that I defended him makes me as guilty of those crimes as he is. I know that it was wrong, but he is the only family I have left. I did not really defend him for his own sake, but for the fact that he is the only one left who can tell me about my mother; about my father and how he grew up. He is the last link I have to my past.

I was far from innocent before; I've been trained as an assassin since I was a child and I have lost count of the number of deaths I personally am responsible for. However, all of that had been in the name of justice. When I defended Saijou from his inevitable fate (and surely it is inevitable, for such crimes cannot go unpunished forever), a part of me died that had always held out hope for something more. I may not have been innocent, but up until the moment I denied a killer justice, I had a strange naivety, and with that naivety went any hope for my own salvation. At that moment, from the ashes of what had been Omi, Mamoru was born.

_No one bites back as hard  
On their anger  
None of my pain and woe  
Can show through  
But my dreams  
They aren't as empty  
As my conscience seems to be_


	3. In My Life: Nagi's POV

A/N: Lyrics at the end are from Every Time We Touch by Cascada

* * *

I had not wanted this, had not asked for it. But something this intense does not 'just happen', so I really do not know how it started. I suppose 'co-workers' molded into 'friendship'. . . and from there things between Omi and I changed into more than I had ever dreamed of.

Six months ago, Mamoru Takatori hired me as his bodyguard. I think at first he hired me more out of rebellion against his grandfather, Saijou Takatori, than out of feeling a real need for protection. Hiring a former member of Schwarz as the bodyguard for the head of Kritiker; how much more rebellious can you get?

I took my duty as his bodyguard very seriously. I followed him everywhere. Maybe I overdid it a bit there at the beginning, but I was determined to prove that I could make it outside of Schwarz, and that meant keeping this job. I knew he could defend himself very well -- I'd fought him enough myself in the past to know that -- but even he could not stop a bullet if someone was determined to end the Takatori line. That, I could do.

When Mamoru decided to leave his grandfather's manor to get his own apartment, I went with him, moving into the guest room. I would not say we were friends yet at that point, but living together has a way of changing that. We settled into a routine quickly, alternating cooking meals and shower schedules.

About a week and a half after we had moved into the apartment, I had been reading in my room when I heard a loud crash from the bathroom where Mamoru was showering. I flew to the door, my mind flying through all the possibilities of what had happened. Had someone come in through the window? Had some sort of explosive been thrown in? I should have known better than to allow him to rent an apartment with a window in the one room I could not follow him into!

I used my powers to blast the lock on the door and pushed my way in, prepared to defend my boss from whatever had threatened him.

It was that night that I discovered that I not only had to defend Mamoru against others, but also from himself.

The Mamoru I had come to know at the office and even here at the apartment was not the same man who was now huddled on the floor in a puddle of glass. It seemed that in a fit of anger, he had punched the mirror and had sank down into its remains without thinking of his own safety. He was covered in glass shards and blood. . . and tears.

When I asked him what had happened, he had looked up at me with those tear-filled blue eyes and hesitated for a moment before answering. During that moment's hesitation, I could see him pull the cloak that was 'Mamoru' over himself. He apologized, very politely of course, for the mess and commotion and said he would clean it and himself up.

I could have let it go at that. . . it really would have been the professional thing to do. After making sure he was not seriously injured, to simply walk away like a good bodyguard. But even Mamoru could not hide the tear stains on his face and had not been able to hide that flash of pain and despair I had seen in his eyes before he had hidden it.

"No," I had said. "Tell me what happened." It was the first time I had defied him.

I thought for a moment that he was going to frown and send me from the room, but he did not. His face fell, tears filling his eyes again. He whispered apologies as I knelt there beside him, and once he started talking, the words spilled out in a barely understandable mix of syllables and sounds. Every once in a while I would catch the name of the members of Weiss, most often that of Siberian, Ken Hidaka.

I managed to get him into his bedroom, where I painstakingly removed all the bits of glass from his cuts using my telekinesis. As I was bandaging the worst of the cuts, Mamoru asked if I ever missed 'them'. Assuming by his tone of voice that he meant Schwarz, I replied that yes, sometimes I did, but I had never contacted them since I began working for him. He had requested that much of me when I began working for him, as assurance that I was not selling Kritiker secrets.

He told me then that if I wanted to call or see them sometime I could, as long as we did not discuss anything concerning Kritiker. "I would not wish this isolation on my worst enemy, and you are far from that, Nagi-kun," he had said. "You are the only friend I have right now."

Those words shocked me enough that I paused for a moment as I was bandaging his hand where he had punched the glass. Mamoru considered me as a friend? I had never really thought about it that way. . . I had never really had a 'friend' before at all. Schwarz was a very close group, yes, but I had never really thought of them as 'friends'. . . more of a twisted sort of family.

"Mamoru-san. . ." I had started to say something, but it was forgotten as soon as he placed his uninjured hand on top of mine.

He pleaded with me with his eyes as he asked me to call him Omi when we were not at work. "Please. . . I need something to remind me that I was someone else before all of this," he had said, with a desperate edge to his voice. "That I was once something more than my grandfather's puppet," he added a bit angrily.

After that episode I made a point of doing more of the mundane chores in the apartment, and even tried to help Omi with office work when I could, just to lighten his stress load. I think it did make a difference, as the bags under his eyes slowly began to fade and his 'episodes' happened less and less frequently, going from as often as once a week to possibly once a month. However, it was after one of the worst of these incidents that everything changed.

I had come home from the store that day to a completely darkened apartment. Not a single light was on, nor a single curtain open to the setting sun. Omi was definitely home; his shoes were by the door and his coat was on the rack, but it was way too quiet. Immediately concerned, I had dropped the groceries on the counter and ran to the door of the room whose occupant I could now call my 'friend' without hesitation or reserve.

When knocking and calling Omi's name several time yielded no answer, I used my power to pop the lock from the inside, and gently eased the door open. I could almost physically feel the despair rush over me as I stepped into the room, but I could not see Omi anywhere. The bed was empty, as was the chair by the window that he often liked to read in. It was then that I heard a muffled sob from the other side of the bed.

Omi was huddled against the bed, knees against his chest and arms resting on top of his knees, face buried in his arms. When I approached him he looked up at me, eyes wide with what looked like horror. Drawing on how I remembered Brad handling me when I used to have panic attacks (I still do sometimes, I just hide them better than Omi), I knelt in front of the man and gently asked him what was wrong.

Abyssinian had been injured on a mission the night before. Nothing more than a flesh wound, grazed by a bullet, but an injury nonetheless, while on a mission Omi had assigned to Weiss. "He could have been killed," Omi kept whispering desperately, "because of me!"

I spent nearly an hour and a half there on the floor with Omi, trying to convince him that there will always be outside variables in missions like that that he will never be able to control. He was protecting Weiss as much as he could; he could not control every variable involved.

I finally convinced him to eat some soup that I brought to him in the bedroom. His sobbing had given him a horrible headache and he did not want to even contemplate turning on a light. After he had eaten and I had put everything away, I went into his room one more time to check on him before bed.

He was acting fairly normal, for a man with a migraine anyway, trying to give weak smiles to assure me that he was fine. But I could not ignore the haunted look that lingered in his eyes. I nearly chose to keep my professional façade; I nearly walked out the door and left him in peace. But that haunted look stayed with me, and at the door I turned back, and asked hesitantly if he wanted me to stay.

In that moment, and those directly following, my entire world was turned upside down. Omi sheepishly replied that he had been too scared to ask, but please, would I? He had held up the corner of the blanket in such an innocent manner that it seemed no big deal at all to climb into the large bed. He needed comfort and stability and I was his bodyguard; it was my duty to supply that for him. However, once Omi fell asleep, which was very quickly thanks to the painkillers he had taken, he shifted closer and closer to me in his sleep until he was all but wrapped around me. With Omi's arms and legs draped over me in an almost possessive manner and his soft breath on my neck, I slept better than I could ever remember sleeping.

From there, it was all a matter of time. We slept alone the next couple of nights as a matter of course, but a few nights later Omi held up the corner of the blanket again, as if we slept in the same bed every night, and I once again climbed in without argument. We were only sleeping in the same bed together, nothing more, but it seemed that it was inevitable that things would progress farther.

The first time Omi kissed me, I thought I was dreaming. Warm lips pressing against mine, a gentle hand cupping my cheek -- surely such things were only found in dreams for me. But no, I opened my eyes and met Omi's. When he realized that I was not angry and not going to crush him with my telekinetic power, he deepened the kiss, his tongue seeking my own, and from that moment I was lost. We both called in late to the office that day.

There are some days that I can hardly believe how far we have come. Omi really never has those 'episodes' any more, even though he does suffer from a bout of depression every once in a while, as do I. But we are there to get each other through it. I have never really been in a relationship before -- Tot hardly counts -- so perhaps I am naïve in thinking that I am in love. What I do know is that the depth of feeling I have for Omi is stronger than anything I've ever felt before. Sometimes I wonder if I'm worthy of the love he gives me, if perhaps I should leave him so that he could find someone better, someone more pure to love, but then I see that look in his eyes, the same look I saw when I opened my eyes that morning he first kissed me, and know, however much it may amaze me, that he loves me as much as I love him.

_Your arms are my castle  
Your heart is my sky  
They wipe away tears that I cry  
The good and the bad times,  
We've been through them all  
You make me rise when I fall_

_Cause every time we touch I get this feeling  
And every time we kiss I swear I could fly  
Can't you feel my heart beat fast?  
I want this to last  
Need you by my side  
Cause every time we touch I feel the static  
And every time we kiss I reach for the sky  
Can't you hear my heart beat slow?  
I can't let you go  
I want you in my life_


	4. You Found Me: Omi's POV

A/N: Lyrics throughout this chapter from Kelly Clarkson's You Found Me

* * *

_Is this a dream?  
If it is, please don't wake me from this high  
I'd become comfortably numb  
Until you opened up my eyes  
To what its like when everything's right  
I can't believe. . ._

I was going numb. . . not feeling anything had been so tempting at that time. All I had been able to feel for months had been pain and guilt -- nothingness had to be an improvement over that. I was trying so hard to let myself go numb, not to feel anything, but something inside of me rebelled against that so hard that one night I just snapped.

_You found me when no one else was looking  
How did you know just where I would be?  
You broke through all of my confusion  
The ups and the downs and you still didn't leave  
I guess that you saw what nobody could see  
You found me_

He could have left me there. . . no one would have been the wiser. Hell, I probably would have been grateful for the chance to slip the rest of the way into the nothingness I was seeking. I really expected him to walk away; we were not close, he had no reason to help me once he saw that I was not being attacked.

But he stayed. Not just that time, but every time after that when everything became too much for me to handle and I snapped. Every time, he was there, talking, listening, or just being there; whatever I needed him to do. He always seemed to know without me having to ask. He even called me Omi when we were alone. . . I don't think he'll ever realize how much that meant to me.

_So, here we are  
That's pretty far  
When you think of where we've been  
No going back,  
I'm fading out all that has faded me within  
You're by my side  
Now everything's fine  
I can't believe. . ._

It is hard to imagine that we used to be mortal enemies. We used to try to kill each other, and now there is no other person I trust more. I trust him with my life, and more importantly, my heart.

As I look down on his sleeping form curled so trustingly against me, I know that I would not have things any other way. No one has ever been so loyal to me, so unfailingly committed to my happiness and peace of mind.

_And I was hiding til you came along  
And showed me where I belong_

I love Nagi more than I ever thought it possible to love another human being. Perhaps our circumstances, having to be together all day, every day, has made our bond stronger. Whatever it is, be it fate, soul mates, or simply circumstances, I would not have it any other way. I still miss my former teammates, particularly Ken, with a strength that can some days border on painful, but Nagi is there to get me through it. I will never forget and never take for granted what Ken and I had together, but I am a different man now than I was when we were in love.

_You found me when no one else was looking  
How did you know just where I would be?  
You broke through all of my confusion  
The ups and the downs and you still didn't leave  
I guess that you saw what nobody could see  
You found me_

Omi will always cherish the time he spent with Ken, but the man I am today, Mamoru Takatori, will forever be in love with the one who saved me from myself, Nagi Naoe.


	5. A Different Kind of Pain: Ken's POV

A/N: Lyrics at the end are from Cold's A Different Kind of Pain

* * *

I saw Omi today on television. Well, I saw the man who used to be Omi. The man I saw today is Mamoru Takatori, or Persia. . . he's not the Omi I used to know. Seeing him didn't hurt as much as it used to, but the pain is still there. I suspect it always will be, though I hope it will fade a bit over time.

The first time I saw him after he left, I didn't know how to react. Here was my old lover, the man I had given my heart to, and he stood there as if I were nothing but an employee.

In the few minutes that we were blessed with his presence, he had declared himself as Mamoru Takatori, and Persia. As he spoke of his intent of putting Omi Tsukiyono behind him forever, it took all of my strength to not cry out to him, beg him to stop. How could he do this? How could he want to kill everything we had had together?

That cold look in his eyes nearly crushed any hopes I may have had at the time. The lack of recognition, the emptiness in those eyes pierced through me, forcing me to realize that the man before me was indeed a different person than the Omi I had loved.

I almost gave up then. . . I nearly allowed my love to die. But as he turned to leave, our eyes met. In that second of locked gazes, I saw, deep down, buried beneath all the indifference he was struggling to project, a flicker of Omi.

The second I recognized that flicker for what it was, it was gone, replaced by Mamoru's characteristic indifference. However, that one second was all I needed to give me hope. Hope that perhaps, somehow, Omi would come back to me. Maybe all he needed was a little help, the slightest push in the right direction. . .

It wasn't hard to get an appointment to see Mamoru Takatori. I needed only to go through Rex, to have her pencil me in amongst his numerous other engagements. The afternoon I was scheduled to meet with him, I arrived a half hour early, determined to not allow my typical lateness interfere with what could be my only chance to break through to him.

When I arrived on the correct floor of the office building, I had to go through a security checkpoint. I had expected this, and appreciated it as well. I wanted Omi as safe as possible, after all. What I had not expected was to see a former member of Schwarz overseeing the operation.

As he patted me down, I could not help but notice a slightly hostile look in his eyes. Was he still holding old grudges? If so, why would he be working to protect the head of Kritiker? Was he perhaps here gathering data? Omi had to know who he was. . . but he really had always been so quick to trust people.

I felt a small pang as I entered Omi's office and was greeted formally. I could not bring myself to answer with 'Mamoru-san', so I compromised with 'Persia'. There were a few moments of polite talk about the well-being of the rest of Weiss before I decided I could take no more of this pretense.

I stood from the seat I had been so politely offered and paced towards his desk, tears threatening to spill over as I begged the man before me to come back to me, to be the Omi I loved so much. His eyes widened in an unrecognizable emotion as I drew nearer.

I ran into an invisible wall before I was within even an arm's length of the desk. I was informed by a cold voice behind me that I would not approach Mamoru without his permission.

Omi's eyes shifted from me to the man behind me, and I knew in that instant that I had lost him forever.

The look in those eyes. . . I knew that look all too well. I had seen it turned on me more times than I could count. Somehow, though, this was more intent, more. . . needy. He looked at Nagi as if he could not draw his next breath without his presence.

That look knocked the breath out of me, causing me physical pain as its significance ripped through me. When I could draw breath again through the tension that filled the air, I turned to see the man behind me. He was looking over Omi as if I had physically wounded him, and turned a look of pure malice towards me. It was the look of one who would die protecting the one he loved.

But the one he loved was not Omi. The man sitting before me was not Omi. It had taken that look exchanged between them for me to realize that Omi was gone. . . Mamoru was all that remained. And Mamoru was in love with his bodyguard, Nagi.

Nagi moved around me, carefully using his powers to hold me in place, to stand behind Mamoru. He placed his hand on his boss's shoulder and gave me a defiant glare. Mamoru took a deep breath, as if drawing physical strength from that small point of contact.

He then calmly explained to me that Omi was no more. Omi was gone, and Mamoru was all that remained. He placed his hand over Nagi's as he continued.

"I am sorry, Siberian," he said quietly. "You should know that Omi loved you, but I am Mamoru. . . and I love Nagi more than anything."

I closed my eyes and drew in a deep breath to steady myself. Behind my closed lids I saw Omi's face; Omi laughing, Omi crying, Omi clinging to me with such desperation the night before he left to begin his new life as Mamoru Takatori.

I opened my eyes to see the man seated before me, and in that instant I believed every word he had said. This man was not the Omi I had loved so much. Omi could never do some of the things this Persia had done, and could never have so coldly called me by my codename instead of the loving 'Ken-kun' that had passed those same lips so many times in the past.

Yes, Omi was gone, replaced by this stern man before me, this heir to the Takatori fortune, and head of Kritiker. However, I could not bring myself to be angry at him, or the man who stood behind him with a firm grip on his shoulder. They were only victims in all this as well, what right did I have to ask of them something they could not give? Mamoru could not return Omi to me. . . and even if he could, would I have been able to separate the two men before me, after seeing the nearly palpable love between them? Even if Nagi had been Weiss's enemy, something that strong cannot be denied.

"I apologize for my behavior. . . Mamoru-san," I managed to choke out. "I allowed my emotions to get the better of me. I will heed your words and treasure the memory of what Omi and I had together." I looked up to see a slight release of tension around his eyes as I spoke. "I wish you and Nagi-kun happiness."

"Thank you, Ken-kun," Mamoru said softly, looking as if the weight of the world had been lifted from his shoulders. Nagi bowed his head in thanks as well, a look of relief evident on his normally stoic face.

Turning and walking out of that office building was the most difficult think I had ever done. I was walking away from everything I had pinned my hopes on, a friend who had been there for me for years, and the greatest love I had ever known. Knowing that the man Omi had turned into was loved by someone as powerful as Nagi with as much intensity as I had seen in his gaze was all that gave me the strength to walk away from Mamoru and into the pain that I knew would take a lifetime to fully recover from.

_A different kind of pain  
Is someone there to hold you?  
Is someone there to take you away from me? _

It's a different kind of pain  
Before you let me go  
I needed you to know  
It's a different kind of pain. . .


End file.
